


Oppositions Attract

by claudia6913



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia6913/pseuds/claudia6913
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary: </b>  Spike confronts Angel after he witnesses the passing of the amulet on to Buffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oppositions Attract

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership over the characters – they belong to Joss et all.

**Oppositions Attract**

The sneer stays firmly on his face as he watches, while hatred burns hot in his chest. He knows better, logically at least, but that does not lessen the pain he feels as their lips meet. In shadows he watches Angel and Buffy together. They break free, her flush, him with a twinkle in his eye, and they begin fighting that Caleb again.

Help, don’t help, both ways are pulling at him. He stays behind the pillar, absently pulling a cigarette out and fiddling with it in his fingers. Buffy has made it quite clear just where he stands in her life. On the outside looking in. He accepts that, understands it even – however, seeing them together, seeing her openly let him in for even just a moment to that stone heart of hers hurts him where he thought he couldn’t be hurt again.

The voice whispers to him from out of nowhere, yet it surrounds him, “Yeah, she needs you real bad.”

For a moment, Spike stands there seething, unable to move. He wars with himself. It would be nothing to walk between them, make them face him and acknowledge him. But, he does not. That is what _she_ wanted, the false Buffy, the First. Instead, he slips out the back without being noticed.

He walks without a destination in mind, letting his long strides guide him as he puffs on another cigarette. Suddenly, Spike finds himself just outside the cemetery standing in front of a car that he just knows belongs to his Sire. A slow, evil smile spreads across his face as he flicks the last of his cigarette away and begins a slow walk around the car. It is red, shiny, and screams _over-compensating_. 

Without a second thought, Spike pulls on the driver’s side door and shakes his head ruefully as it opens. Not locking the doors, he thinks, is so very, very pompous, and so very, very Angelus. Of course no one and nothing would dare touch what was his, Spike remembers. Sliding into the premium leather seats, Spike runs his hands over the wheel, admiring the feel of it. True, he is not one who goes ga-ga for cars, but he has to admit to himself that there are some you cannot help but to appreciate their beauty.

For a few moments, Spike toys with the idea of hot-wiring the car and just taking off. The idea of slipping to the bad persona as well as taking something of his Sire’s is immensely satisfying - to say nothing of the idea of just leaving it all. Leaving Buffy, leaving the Potentials, leaving the war, leaving Sunnydale and everything it represents – that is too tempting.

His fingers drum idly as the choices run through his mind. So consumed is he that it isn’t until a shadow falls across him that he knew someone was there.

Spike is yanked unceremoniously out of the car and comes face to face with Angel. They snarl at each other before Angel tosses him to the side, shuts the door, and turns to face Spike as he pulls himself up from the ground.

“Bit flashy, mate,” Spike says, attempting to brush off the grass along with the momentary humiliation of being caught unawares.

Angel shrugs, “What were you doing, Spike?”

“Might ask you the same thing. Not your place here anymore, is it?”

Angel steps away from the car and Spike steps forward to meet him. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but I’m trying to help.”

Scoffing, Spike says, “Yeah, heard those Slayer tonsils are hell to get to properly.”

The swing comes fast, but Spike is ready. Always his Sire lets his fists talk when he cannot think of proper words to hurt him with. He ducks and spins on his foot to the left, bringing up his arm to block another punch. Spike ducks and weaves, staying within reach, but not letting those fists touch him. It is a dance his body is well used to and it reacts without much thought from him.

After a few moments it ends without a word from either of them. Spike leans back against the car, daring Angel to say anything, and lights up. Angel leans next to him and folds his arms.

“How bad is it?” Angel asks, needing to know not only just that, but also whether his information is accurate. Of course it is. It always is. But that just makes his stomach knot in worry.

Silence falls for a while, Spike inhaling and exhaling the smoke, gathering his thoughts, deciding what to say. Saying everything is fine would be too big of a lie to even let the words pass his lips. They aren’t exactly handling it either. More like blindly walking into walls, marking where they are, and continuing on hoping they find the tunnel with the light and the way out. Neither can he say that as it would be like saying they were unable to handle what was coming.

But that is the point. They are completely unable to handle what is coming. Sure they make plans, try to strategize, but it’s all moot anyway. No one will live through this. Not even with the shiny bauble his Sire brought.

“Didn’t think trinkets were your thing, mate,” Spike says instead.

“They’re not, but I’m told it will help,” Angel says watching Spike.

Of course he was told, Spike thinks as he snorts in amusement at Angel’s proclamation. “Fancy lawyers know all about apocalypses now?” Spike shakes his head and flicks away his cigarette. “Don’t matter, does it, in the end. Guess you’ll be needing your shining armor then?”

“It’ll take a Champion to wield the amulet,” Angele says, pushing away from the car. He moves to stand in front of Spike.

“Yeah, well, they seem a dime a dozen ‘till they’re needed. And yet you always show just in the nick of time.”

“She told me no,” Angel says, just as Spike begins to say, “’Suppose she’ll be beggin’ you to start trainin’ the … what?”

Spike stands up straight and looks at Angel, clearly trying to work through what he said. “Said no? What’s that mean then?”

Shrugging, Angel crosses his arms and clearly looks unhappy with the entire situation. He feels … useless – tossed away and discarded as though he did not matter. When the reality is that he _does_ matter. Doesn’t he? “Buffy said she had someone in mind for it and wouldn’t let me help.”

They stand in silence, each thinking over the implications of that decision, each wondering who it could be she was speaking about.

“Do you love her?” Angel asks, breaking the silence.

Spike’s head snaps up at the question, confusion washing across his face. “Don’t you?” That is answer enough he thinks as he reads the answer clearly in Angel’s barely perceptible nod.

Suddenly Spike begins laughing, leaning back against the car to keep his balance. In the end of days, this is all too much and it throws him over an edge he didn’t know existed. Slowly, Angel joins in, quietly at first and then he is leaning one hand on the car bent over from the humor of it all.

It takes a few minutes, but slowly the laughter stops and they are side by side again. Spike turns his head to see Angel looking at him, humor still on his face, his eyes shining with it and an urge takes him and he goes with it. They’re going to die, there is no escaping it, and so he leans in and kisses Angel, his Sire. He expects to be pushed away. He expects a harsh rebuttal as to why this is wrong and they shouldn’t do it. Instead he is pleasantly surprised when strong arms pull him closer and they are against the car, their tongues dancing, their hips grinding into each other – lost in each other one last time.

It’s the end of days, the end of everything, and for just a moment, they feel alive.


End file.
